Felix fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out!"
Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, answered only with a
grunt.
"Anything about the Goodwood?" called out the third man.
"Rory O'More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss," shouted the student.
"Just my luck," grumbled the inquirer, jerking his flies off the water,
and throwing again with a heavy, sullen splash, and frightening Tom's
fish.
"I say, can't you throw lighter over there? We ain't fishing for
grampuses," shouted Tom across the stream.
"Hullo, Brown! here's something for you," called out the reading man
next moment. "Why, your old master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead."
Tom's hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his line and flies went all
tangling round and round his rod; you might have knocked him over with a
feather. Neither of his companions took any notice of him, luckily; and
with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to disentangle his
line. He felt completely carried off his moral and intellectual legs, as
if he had lost his standing-point in the invisible world. Besides which,
the deep, loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made the shock
intensely painful. It was the first great wrench of his life, the first
gap which the angel Death had made in his circle, and he felt numbed,
and beaten down, and spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good for
him and for many others in like case, who had to learn by that loss
that the soul of man cannot stand or lean upon any human prop, however
strong, and wise, and good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand and
lean will knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful way,
until there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages,
upon whom alone a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid.
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